


Bloom

by na_mida



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parental Abuse, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29373048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/na_mida/pseuds/na_mida
Summary: After suffering a traumatic event, Cinder's life is in shambles. And cycling through every job in the book, she ends up at a floral shop where she deals with more than just flowers.
Relationships: Cinder Fall/Neopolitan
Kudos: 28





	Bloom

The ash covered ground made her spine pop. Despite the rest of her body, the pain in her back was something she was acutely aware of. That feeling. What was she feeling? 

Fire. 

It was ironic. Her own name and her situation was the pinnacle of irony. Cinder - a burnt piece of rock, but still could catch aflame any second. She had been praised, once, only ever in a blue moon. She had been told that her name, Cinder, was elegant.  _ What a joke. _ The sensation of burning, of being on fire, was far from anything like that. It was pure agony. 

And that wasn’t the worst part. 

It was the smell. 

The smell of flesh. 

Of meat. 

The smell of steak, of any meat disgusted her by this point. Cinder had been told a lot of things in her life. One of them was that her distaste was distinctly because of her accident. That’s why her nose scrunched up, every time Salem would ask (tell) her to cook this ridiculous meal. It wasn’t anything spectacular, so she never got why Salem wanted it so often. Just another recipe out of Salem’s dusty cookbook, one that she’s had before she took Cinder in. So it must’ve been old. Very old, if the torn pages and stained cover were anything to go by. 

But Cinder wasn’t one to question anything regarding her caretaker, so she never asked about the book. Nor the wooden cane with the twisted, ivory handle that was propped up in the corner. And definitely not the book of fairy tales up on the shelf that Cinder had one day tried to read, and realized too soon that that was a mistake. 

  
Cinder didn’t like questions. 

And certainly didn’t like upsetting Salem. She did so much for Cinder. Especially after the crash. After the hospital bills, and constant visits to Doctor Polendina, Salem became someone Cinder never wanted to disappoint. And, unlike other foster homes she’d been through, Salem was the only one to let Cinder do things. 

Like cook this stupid meat. 

It wasn’t even for Salem this time. She wasn’t even home. The damn steak was for her irritating dog, Hound. He was a huge doberman, big enough and smart enough to knock Cinder over whenever he wanted. Especially right now. 

Hound was running around the house, doing that whine that dogs do when they get impatient. When they beg for food. When it came to Salem, Hound never had to beg. 

Cinder hated that. 

She hated a lot of things nowadays. Then again, she never had a time when she was fond of anything in particular. Writing was something she was good at. But being a writer wasn’t stable, and she and Salem needed stability. 

Stability was like her right arm, as it grabbed a knife to cut the steak up into little pieces. Cinder couldn’t afford to be any other way. She had to overcome the numbness, the lack of sensation as her left arm picked up Hound’s bowl. The cling of plastic fingers against the metal dish made her remember she wasn’t any better.

She hasn’t overcome anything. 

The pitter patter of Hound’s untrimmed claws coming from a place she couldn’t see. A blind spot in her vision made her feel helpless. 

Cinder despised the helpless. 

* * *

While Cinder was given the freedom to do as she pleased, she also had obligations. She was an adult after all, no matter how dependent she felt on her old foster parent. Being an adult came with responsibility. Like work. 

With the way Salem needed her, Cinder was used to work, and used to juggling a lot of jobs. Meagre wages meant she had to always be at one job or another. Meant she was always tired, run ragged, and had permanent purple smudges under her eyes. Some jobs were more pleasant than others. Custodial work was better than customer service jobs, in her opinion. At least she didn’t have to deal with self entitled jerks hourly. 

One of her favorites, though, was her shift at Malachite’s Floral Shop. Her boss left her workers to themselves for the most part, and, unless it was Valentine’s Day, it wasn’t too busy. Somehow the little shop kept its head above water. 

_ Strange. _

After being laid off from a fast food place, Cinder had immediately gone job hunting. It was barely a week since she submitted her application and did the interview, but she was enjoying this a lot more than being around greasy food all day. It smelled a lot better, at least. 

It was a late Saturday afternoon. Cinder’s job was to close up shop for the rest of the night and into Sunday. Expectantly, it was slow.  _ More like easy-going. _

The calm was interrupted by a chime of the bell, and a slam of a door. 

In, walked a short woman with long dyed hair. It reminded Cinder of strawberry and chocolate ice cream. She had heterochromia and eyelids painted green. She wore a white turtleneck under a dark, long jacket that draped over the thigh of her dress pants. It was a strange attire for a weekend afternoon. There certainly weren't any fancy restaurants or parties nearby. What was stranger was her bowler hat, which looked two sizes too big. 

Everything about this person made Cinder very self conscious. Or maybe it was the job. Either way, Cinder felt uncomfortable. 

The woman’s heels clicked as she walked around, admiring the flora. 

Cinder took a deep breath, and put on her best people pleaser smile. Her steps were shaky.

“Hello, Ma’am,” The woman turned to face her. “My name’s Cinder. Is there anything I can help you with?” 

It was a small pause before hand, but the woman gestured towards the flowers in front of her. Cinder faltered. “Um, of course. You’re here for,” She coughed slightly. The woman was giving her a blank stare. “Flowers.” 

There was a hint of amusement in the woman’s eyes. She said nothing. Cinder felt like she should’ve been embarrassed. Instead, she felt something shift in her. Annoyance. This stranger was trying to be smart with her. 

Cinder wanted to scream. “Right, I have some recommendations if you’re open to hear them.” 

The stare continued, but was accompanied by a ‘go-on’ gesture. Cinder resisted to roll her eyes. “Roses are quite popular-”

A quick risen hand and a displeased expression stopped Cinder’s speech. The woman, after a brief look around, hurried over to the opposite end of the store. She ended up shoulder-checking Cinder in her haste. Cinder was left to stand in disbelief. 

No longer did she feel self conscious, embarrassed, and somewhat intrigued by this stranger. She only felt the low simmering rage that she was accustomed to rising up in her belly. This person was rude, arrogant, and weird. 

Just like how the strange woman interrupted the calm of the empty shop, she interrupted Cinder’s vindictive monologue with an insistent knocking. Cinder turned to see her at the register, tapping her fingers one by one on the countertop. When it was clear she had gotten Cinder’s attention, she pointed impatiently at a display of camellias. 

_ Of course. Rude, arrogant, weird and impatient. Ugh. _

Wordlessly and quickly, Cinder gathered up her bouquet of camellias. She was about to ring up the purchase when another ‘tap’ stopped her. The woman did a gesture of a pen writing in the air, then pointed towards Cinder. It took a second before Cinder realized she was asking for a card, probably to write a note to whoever this bouquet was going to. 

With as much contempt Cinder could muster, she smiled and then turned to grab her a card and a pen for good measure. The woman already put the exact amount of cash needed on the counter, before Cinder even said anything. It left her a little lost, if not confused. 

As soon as she put the card and pen down, the stranger started to write furiously. It took only a few seconds, and when she was done folding it into a tiny square, she grabbed the bouquet and turned to leave. Not even grabbing the card she requested. Just before she walked out the door, the woman turned to glance at Cinder one more time. She was smirking, looked pointedly at the card on still on the countertop then back at Cinder, and tipped her bowler hat. 

The bell chimed and the door slammed. She was gone. 

Any ounce of annoyance Cinder felt had left with the stranger. Cinder felt cautious. She had left a note for Cinder. But what would it say? Was this done by Salem? What did she want? 

Cinder’s hand was shaking as she picked up the card, just like her legs when she first walked up to the woman. Carefully, she pulled apart the edges of the paper. 

It read: 

“ **I can tell you’re new here. I’m mute, can’t talk. Name’s Neo, btw. See you next time!** ”

Cinder’s stomach dropped. Her face heated up. 

_ Fuck _ . 

She was angry. 


End file.
